


Four Times Peter and Elias Got Married and One Time They Didn't

by some_nights



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Divorce Shenanigans, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Peter Lukas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-02-02 22:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21382978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_nights/pseuds/some_nights
Summary: Their first marriage was on a dare. Despite not being one for company, Peter had always had a weakness for bets and a neck for getting into them.He knew the was no point in beating around the bush with Elias, so Peter cut right to the chase: "Will you marry me for a bet? We can get divorced after a few weeks, I just need to marry someone quickly.""Why me?", Elias asked, eyebrow raised. Peter didn’t need Beholding powers to know Elias was on board— his smirk spoke for itself."Because of the limited number of people I know, you are the one who is most likely to go along with this just for the fun of it."The title says it all.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 26
Kudos: 220





	Four Times Peter and Elias Got Married and One Time They Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know nothing about nuptial law in the UK and have just ignored the fact that gay marriage hasn't always been legal. Also, this is only like. 98% canon-compliant. Enjoy!

Their first marriage was on a dare. Despite not being one for company, Peter had always had a weakness for bets and a neck for getting into them.

He knew the was no point in beating around the bush with Elias, so Peter cut right to the chase: "Will you marry me for a bet? We can get divorced after a few weeks, I just need to marry someone quickly." 

"Why me?", Elias asked, eyebrow raised. Peter didn’t need Beholding powers to know Elias was on board— his smirk spoke for itself.

"Because of the limited number of people I know, you are the one who is most likely to go along with this just for the fun of it." 

Elias looked at him in silence and Peter started to fidget with his jacket. He didn't like being looked at. In this case, though, it wasn’t the stare that made him uncomfortable. Rather, it was the fact that he wasn’t opposed to the way those old eyes traversed his body. Peter had always taken comfort in the familiar. He’d always take known discomfort over any unknown situation. This feeling he got under that stare was new; thus, he hated it.

Peter was just about ready to leave without another comment when Elias said: "Why not, it's not like I've got much else going on at the moment."

* * *

It was a simple enough affair, they asked a random passer-by to stand in as their witness, signed some documents and just like that, they were married. And that's when the trouble started. It turned out that Elias was determined to have as much fun with this as possible, much to Peter's chagrin. Firstly, he took to calling Peter “honey bug” which was certainly not appreciated. Then, he insisted on seeing Peter off when he set sail with the _ Tundra _. There his husband stood, by the docks, dramatically waving a handkerchief. Peter didn’t know what to make of that.

Worst of all, in every harbour Peter took port in, there was a letter waiting. When he saw the first one, he recognised the handwriting immediately and cursed his heart for beating a little faster. He put the letter into a box without opening it but in the end, curiosity won out over his desire to sever all human connection aboard his ship.

It started with “My dearest honey bug”, detailed the newest Institute drama, contained a sentence about the importance of a proper sleep cycle, and closed with: “Most faithfully yours, your devout husband, Elias Jonah Magnus Bouchard”. Peter’s face was burning. Nice to know Elias was having fun.

For a while, he tried to avoid the letters. He stayed on the ship when they docked, changed routes almost on a whim. But they always found him and when they did, they often contained some form of mockery towards Peter’s futile efforts. It was as frustrating as it was endearing. Peter didn’t reply to the letters, of course, but whenever he opened one, he could feel the watchful eye from afar.

In his last letter before the divorce, Elias wrote: “I wish, my dear, you’d remember the harshness of the English winter. I fear that none of your garments will keep you as warm as you should be. My advice to you would be to get a warmer coat.”

The passage was wedged in between the usual Institute gossip and Elias detailing his search for a Leitner that had most recently been brought to his attention. Peter re-read it several times. Then he turned the page over and wrote on the back: “Get me a coat yourself.” The nervous flutter in his stomach was not appreciated.

When Elias picked Peter up from the docks, he brought a coat.

* * *

The divorce was as uncomplicated as their wedding. They signed some papers and that was that. No longer husbands. Ex husbands.

“Well”, Elias said after it was done. “This was certainly a lot of fun.”

Peter said nothing. The coat was almost too warm for his taste.

“Say, do you want a drink? I’ve got some very nice brandy in my office.”

Peter ignored every part of his being that was already overwhelmed by the company, that craved the comfort of being on his own, surrounded by his pleasant cocoon of loneliness and silence. He said yes and this time, the nervous flutter was welcome. It distracted from the pain.

* * *

The letters didn’t stop after the divorce. They weren’t waiting for Peter in ever harbour and Elias significantly cut back on the pet-names; still, once in a while, Peter received a few pages detailing the latest occurrences, some at the Institute, some beyond. Occasionally, they even contained useful information like that time Elias warned Peter about a tropical storm they hadn’t known about yet. Mostly, though, the letters were gossip. With every line Peter read, he grew more convinced that Elias loved gossip as much as Peter loved his wagers. It was only a question of time until their interests collided.

“I propose”, Elias wrote one time, “a bet. I bet that I will find the Leitner before Mary Keay does. If I lose, I will have to spend an evening with you. If you lose (in this case, you are on Mary’s side), you will have to spend an evening with me.”

Peter could have pointed out that the bet was pretty much pointless, as both penalties had basically the same outcome. But that would have required too many words, so he simply scribbled: “Okay.”

* * *

For the next few years, they went on like that— Elias keeping Peter up to date with institute drama which he did not care for at all and the occasional bet which he did care for more. Usually, the penalties resulted in him and Elias spending at least one evening together when Peter was in England. While Peter suspected Elias might be enjoying their time together too much for it to be much of a penalty, he wasn’t about to complain. He came to appreciate the company of this man. He refused to think any further than that. What was the odd evening at the institute or in some half-empty bar against months spent in solitude? What did it matter that he thought about these evenings at times when, before, he’d revelled in his loneliness? The Lonely was his home. Elias might be a distraction but he wasn’t a threat. Yes, Peter appreciated their evenings but they paled in comparison to the serenity he felt when he got to sit in his cabin in silence and stare out into the eternal waves of the ocean. Which was why, at times, he didn’t read Elias’s letters; sometimes he did but just didn’t reply. He had no way of knowing how it made Elias feel and he shouldn’t care. When Peter was putting the unopened envelope into the box, he shouldn’t think about Elias, back in England, reaching out with his sight across oceans until he found Peter. But it was hard not to when he could feel that familiar tingle in his spine.

* * *

They got married again in between— something about a tax write-off for Elias. This time, it really was only a business affair. They stayed married for a while but Elias didn’t refer to Peter as “honey bug” once. The next time Peter’s crew docked in England, they got their second divorce.

“Drink?”, Peter asked when they were done.

He enjoyed the look of pleasant surprise on Elias’s face.

“Alright, my institute liquor is running low though. What do you think of coming over to my place?”

Peter tried very hard not to look shocked. Obviously, he was aware Elias didn’t actually live at the institute. A few moments ago, however, he hadn't been. He’d never spent much thought on where Elias might spend his downtime— their time together was spent in Elias’s office or dingy bars of Peter’s choosing. But apparently, Elias had an apartment that stretched over two stories in one of the nice areas of London.

“You can leave your coat right here and please take off your shoes, I know where they’ve been and I don’t want all that dragged over my floor”, Elias said.

Peter did as he was told. When he entered the living room, he noticed that it was cozy. Usually, any sort of wall made Peter feel caged in; he preferred open space, a feeling of infinity. Here, though, Peter could see himself spending hours or even days without developing the desire of running away towards a destination that, in the end, didn’t matter.

“Armchair or couch, your choice. But I should warn you, the armchair might get a little snuggly with both of us in it.” Elias winked.

This wasn’t the first time he’d made a remark like that and it probably wouldn’t be the last time. Peter didn’t mind; even more than that, he was sure that if he did, Elias would stop. Another thing he didn’t think about.

The evening passed pleasantly, they drank, talked, played some cards and just existed together. At multiple points, Peter felt that it was time to go but the couch was too comfortable or the story Elias was telling too invigorating or his hand too good. So he stayed.

The next morning, he woke up, not even remembering falling asleep. He couldn't recall the last time he’d felt this rested after waking up. His back hurt a little— the couch had definitely not been purchased with sleeping in mind.

The smell of scrambled eggs hung in the air. Peter followed it into the kitchen where Elias was making breakfast.

“Morning, honey bug! Made you some tea too. I know you don’t like coffee.”

The breakfast was delicious.

* * *

After that, Peter frequently slept on Elias’s couch when he was in England. So frequently, in fact, that Elias not only got a new and more comfortable couch (which neither of them mentioned), but he also gave Peter his own drawer in the bathroom cabinet. Peter always slept as good as on the first night and, more often than not, he got treated to a self-made breakfast by Elias.

In the grand scheme of Peter’s life, these little intervals were meaningless. Sure, they were nice, but they were nothing like the time Peter spent aboard the _ Tundra _ , on the ocean, with the Lonely. That was his real life. The _ Tundra _was his home.

When his uncle Nathaniel had approached him about captaining the ship, Peter had not hesitated; he’d always loved the sea. It was the closest one could get to the realm of the Lonely without actually stepping in. If you knew the right routes (and Peter did), you could go weeks without seeing another ship. The only thing keeping you from the vastness beneath was a construct made of metal. You were never dry, everything was damp and cold. Just the way Peter liked it.

But he’d also grown to like the warmth that spread from his heart whenever he remembered that he was the only person besides Elias who got to regularly spend time in that flat in London. He enjoyed how easy it was for Elias to coax a smile out of him. Peter refused to think about the meaning of the excitement he felt whenever they made land and he expected a new letter by Elias. If he contemplated all that was going on inside him, there was only one inevitable conclusion. And that utterly terrified him.

* * *

On one of their evenings, Peter was on the couch, pondering over a list of his current crew, while Elias was lounging on his favourite armchair reading a book. Sometimes, Peter looked up from his list, still amazed at the fact that, within his own four walls, Elias seemed unable to sit properly. He was sitting sideways, using an armrest for back support and one of his legs to balance the book.

They were enjoying some magnificent hot chocolate. The time Elias had spent perfecting his kitchen skills really paid off in Peter’s opinion.

“To think this all started because someone bet that you’d never get married.”

Elias was smirking, his book discarded on the couch table.

Peter was overcome with a feeling that he dared not even think the name of as he looked at that man and felt absolutely anchored. 

After a beat of silence, he cleared his throat and said: “I bet I can surprise you”

Elias laughed. Peter’s heart was so full it hurt.

“I mean, you can certainly try. If you win?”

Peter quickly made his way towards Elias and kissed him. The kiss was neither elegant nor romantic. It was a quick peck on the lips and because Peter had overestimated the distance between them, their noses bumped into each other. It only lasted the fracture of a second and afterwards, Peter was mortified. This had been a mistake.

“Alright”, Elias said; he sounded like a kitten that had just eaten its first canary. “You win.”

Their next kisses were much better.

* * *

Peter had never been in a relationship before. He hadn’t been prepared for how hard it would be. The Lonely had always been where he’d felt the most comfortable. His God’s domain had been the place every fibre of Peter’s being yearned to be in, the only place where he felt absolute content; and it was only to serve that God that Peter willingly left. This still held true, to some extent.

But now, there was also Elias and the comfort Peter felt when they were together. He started to consider the flat his home— sometimes even more so than the _ Tundra _. For the first time in years, loneliness was hurting Peter. Whenever he had to set out on his ship again, whenever he said goodbye to Elias, it was as if Peter was being thrown into ice-cold water after spending time in the sun. It always got better— yet, those first few days were torture of a magnitude Peter had never experienced before. More than that, no matter how much time Peter and Elias spent apart, whether he read the letters or not, it never went back to normal. He was unable to enjoy his solitude as much as he had before; there was always something missing, or rather: someone.

When he was with Elias, though, all was right with the world. Even the by now familiar feeling of being watched from afar was a slight balm on the wounds The One Alone now dealt him. Nothing much changed in their relationship after that one night— only that, now, Peter slept in the bed with Elias and he had a key. Sometimes, he went to the apartment when he knew Elias wouldn’t be there. He liked the way it felt to be alone in there. It was the soft, comfortable loneliness he’d fallen in love with as a teenager. Elias always Knew when Peter needed space and only came home when the silence started to suffocate him.

* * *

The thought came into Peter’s head one night during dinner and wouldn’t leave. As they were eating in silence, he remembered how much he’d enjoyed calling Elias his husband in his thoughts the first time around and that had been before all of this had happened —  whatever “this” was. They’d already been married two times, what was a third?

This time, though, there were stakes. This time, it would mean something. Maybe Elias didn’t want that —  it could be that, to him, this whole situation was temporary, a fluke that would go away as quickly as it had come up. Which, granted, would be a few years since they had taken their time but still. Elias could say no and Peter was quite sure that would destroy him. So he kept the thought to himself as he spent time with Elias and he kept it to himself as he went back to the  _ Tundra _ . It had taken root in his mind and would not get out, even as Peter got as comfortable as he could in the familiar cold of the  _ Tundra  _ and enjoyed bringing members of his crew as sacrifices for The Lonely. With each of Elias’s letters, the thought grew stronger. Peter didn’t respond to a single one. This time, he didn’t feel the eye on him. He told himself that he didn’t mind; it didn’t matter and it was better if Elias lost interest. His heart wouldn’t listen.

* * *

They didn’t see each other for months, as was Peter’s custom. By the time he got back to England, Peter had almost forgotten what drew him to Elias —  at least until he went up the stairs towards the flat and could smell a delicious dinner from the stairway. His heart started to bear faster and every part of his body felt hot with excitement. He was pretty sure his face was flushed red. He didn’t care though. All he cared about was to see Elias again, to hold him in his arms.

Peter opened the door and there he was. Elias. Peter went up to him, shoes and all, and hugged him from behind.

“I don’t even get a ‘Sweetie, I’m home!’?”, Elias asked in mock outrage.

“Marry me”, Peter said instead of an answer. He stepped back to give Elias room to turn around. The smile he saw on his face made the last bit of cold disappear from Peter’s bones.

* * *

It wasn’t that different from the other times. They go to the ministry, get a witness from the street and sign the papers. But Elias gets them rings and they both dress up a little and they ask the official to let them read vows. Peter just said: “You are my harbour, Elias Jonah Magnus Bouchard. You are my reason to seek port time and time again.”

Elias’s speech was significantly longer and with each word out of his soon-to-be husband’s mouth, Peter’s heart grew. He couldn’t believe how fond he was of this man.

That night, they were in bed, cuddling. Peter had never been a fan of physical contact before but when it came to Elias, he’d found that he could barely get enough.

“Why do you call me Elias and not Jonah or James?”, Elias asked. He wasn’t compelling Peter to answer, in fact, since their first marriage he never did (at least not on purpose). Peter appreciated that —  he strongly preferred being master of his own words.

“Would you prefer if I called you by one of your other names?”

Elias considered this for a moment. His face was unguarded as it so frequently was when he was with Peter. The underlying malice that could so often be found in all of his expressions simply disappeared.

“No,” he said after a while. “I like being your Elias.”

* * *

It was nice. Of course it was. For the first time in his life, Peter had a home with another person —  a person who understood that, occasionally, Peter wouldn’t talk for days or would just disappear without warning. It was nice. They had breakfast and dinner together, sometimes even lunch when Peter felt up to eating in public —  the institute was too far from Elias’s flat for him to make the trip during his break. It was nice. They lived as husbands and were husbands and Peter’s heart was full and yet he felt fractured.

Even though he was happy with Elias, he ached for the days when the month aboard the  _ Tundra  _ had been painless. Back then, slipping in and out of The Lonely had been as easy as closing his eyes. Now, he had to concentrate, banish his husband and everything connected to him from his thoughts, had to force the warmth out of his heart. And even then he didn’t always succeed. His life had been so uncomplicated. There had been his faith and there had been distractions. Elias, though, was more than a mere distraction. He was important to Peter. Peter  _ cared _ . And that was eroding everything his life was built upon.

The next time Peter went aboard the  _ Tundra _ , he decided to ignore the letters. He needed to think and he couldn’t do that with Elias breathing down his neck. He took off his wedding band and put it into the box. Already, he could feel his heart hardening. This was good. The cold was returning. Soon, he would be part of The Lonely again.

Peter charted a course that would take them through point Nemo. It was his favourite place on earth. The solitude was tangible out there. When they arrived, Peter felt like he could breathe again. Apart from one crew member on watch, Peter was the only person awake for miles and miles. He closed his eyes and, effortlessly, found himself within the empty, endless fog. Jubilation coursed through him.  _ ‘Maybe this thing with Elias can work after all’ _ , he thought. He was violently spat out and the bliss he had felt just moments before was ripped away. Tears welled up in his eyes. Peter hurt, body and soul; the very essence of his being was screaming in pain. When he felt the familiar tingle of Elias’s watchful eyes, even here, he finally realised the truth. He locked the box with his wedding ring and threw the other letters Elias sent him into the sea.

* * *

Elias was waiting for him when the  _ Tundra  _ returned to London. A part of Peter, the weak part, was happy to see him. He wanted to run into his husband’s arms, return to the home they had built. Peter squashed those wants. They were foolish.

“I need a divorce”, he said. He hadn’t spoken in so long his voice was hoarse.

“May I ask why?”, Elias asked and at that moment, Peter hated him because he could feel his throat loosen, the words streaming out of him against his every intention. He could have tried to resist but it wasn’t worth it.

“I know what you did, Elias. You have made me f-” No. He wouldn’t get that. “You did all this to hurt The Lonely. Why you would try to sabotage the good relationship my family has had with you for centuries is anyone’s guess but I know you, ‘Elias Bouchard’. I know your reputation, your curiosity, your talent for getting people to do exactly what you want. My guess is that the aforementioned curiosity was your primary motivator in this matter. Just seeing if you could do it, if you could cost the Lonely one of its most faithful followers. You almost succeeded. But you underestimated the power of The Forsaken. You thought you were enough to disconnect me from it, that my… feelings for you would overcome my devotion. If I hadn’t discovered your vicious plan, it would have been successful. But now, I want my divorce. I want nothing more to do with you, Elias Jonah Magnus Bouchard.”

When he was done talking, Peter gripped his throat. He hoped his glare adequately conveyed his anger and hatred. He definitely wouldn’t voice them. Elias didn’t deserve any more of his words.

Elias said coldly: “I won’t ask which feelings, I don’t want to further embarrass you.”

Peter refused to be grateful for that.

* * *

Time passed. Peter tried to forget how much. As the dust on top of the locked box on Peter’s desk grew thicker, his connection to The Forsaken grew as strong as it used to be. On cold nights, he occasionally remembered that he still had his coat at the flat but apart from that, he didn’t waste any thoughts on the little slip-up that was his third marriage to Elias Bouchard. One thing he did waste a lot of thoughts on, though, was The Extinction. That, at least, was one good thing to come out of this whole unfortunate affair. After one of their lunch dates, Peter had snuck into the Institute to eavesdrop on some of the staff. While he didn’t have Elias’s fondness for gossip, the employees sometimes shared information that proved quite vital in the long run. He overheard Adelard Dekker and the Archivist talking and afterwards put himself into the man’s path to learn more about his theory regarding the fifteenth fear. The contents of that conversation had stayed at the back of his mind and he’d soon started to consider ways to thwart the emerging fifteenth power. His first plans regarding The Silence were set into motion even before the divorce and now that there were no longer any distractions, Peter put the whole thing into action.

* * *

It was only natural for Peter to storm into Elias’s office afterwards, throwing a copy of  _ The Guardian _ onto the desk.

“Your godforsaken Archivist foiled my ritual!”

“Nice to see you too, Peter. Do you want some tea?”

The calm in Elias’s voice was infuriating. “Do I want some —  of course I don’t want tea! I just wanted to — ”

Suddenly, Peter was hit with the realisation that this was the first time they were speaking since the divorce. His anger didn’t disappear, he’d put too much work into his ritual to simply forget that it failed because of a  _ Guardian  _ thinkpiece. He just couldn't find the words to express that without feeling like an utter fool.

“Wanted to…?”, Elias asked and raised an eyebrow. That fucking smirk.

“Forget it”, Peter mumbled and disappeared.

* * *

He started receiving letters again after that. Peter wasn’t sure why he read them again. They were pretty much the same as they had been after their first divorce —  no “honey bug”, just Institute drama and the occasional hint or warning. Peter was aware that simply reading them posed a danger to him. He should just throw them into the sea, as he’d done a while ago. But he didn’t. In those days, Peter frequently thought that Jonah could have ended up serving The Spider almost as well as he was serving The Eye.

* * *

The next time Peter was in London, he went to the Institute again.

“I’d like for you to stop finding ways to contact me”, Peter said instead of a greeting.

“You know, that’s one thing I always appreciated about you, Peter — you’re not one to waste words.”

Again, that smirk. It made Peter’s blood boil. “You talk enough for the both of us.”

Elias actually laughed at that.

“If you really wanted me to stop writing, you’d just stop reading my letters.”

Peter thought of the box of letters on his desk, some still unopened. A box that hadn’t been touched in ages. He was pretty sure Elias thought of it too.

“Just… stop,” Peter said.

Elias looked at him as if he were a riddle he needed to solve.

“No”, he said.

Peter groaned in frustration.

“But I can start including bets again if you’d like. This time with real penalties, not just… drinks.”

It was a bad idea. But if Peter was being honest, the  _ Tundra _ didn’t fulfil him like it used to since that failed ritual. So he shrugged and turned away.

* * *

They didn’t return to the way things were but they established a new normal. Elias proposed a bet, often with an artefact or a victim as a price. Peter either agreed or passed. At first, he was careful and considered for a while whether he should actually take the wager or not. After a few wins in a row, though, Peter very rarely passed up on a bet.

In San Francisco, after yet another win, Peter found a letter from Elias that said: “I’m currently in the States, checking up on the Institute's Northern American branch. If you feel so inclined, you could hop on a plane to Vegas and receive your price there. Lots of lonely and destitute people here and quite a bit of gambling.”

Peter didn’t think twice before boarding the plane.

* * *

“Fuck”, Elias groaned.

Peter wholeheartedly agreed. His head was hurting and he was sure that he’d gambled away quite a significant amount of his inheritance. He’d never hear the end of it. His mouth felt as if a rat had died in there and his skull was pounding. He tried to remember the exact progress of last night. There had been whispers into the ears of desolate tourists, leading them onto paths that would certainly forsake them; there’d been gambling, quite a lot of gambling, and even more liquor; there’d been Elias’s hand on his shoulder as he whispered the hands Peter’s opponents had into Peter’s ear; shivers down his spine; Elias’s mouth on his… And then there was nothing.

Peter slowly opened his eyes even though his head would have preferred he kept them close. He was pretty sure they had booked separate rooms. Yet, they seemed to have found their way into the bridal suite. It was quite obvious where the night had gone.

With rising panic, Peter looked down at his right hand and breathed a sigh of relief. No ring. Just an ill-advised Vegas hook-up.

“You know what they say”, Elias said, almost back to his usual chipper self already. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Peter nodded and held his head in his hands. He needed some painkillers and some water. When he looked over to the nightstand, he saw some papers on it.

“We didn’t…?”, he started to ask,

Generously, Elias filled in the blanks for Peter. He could have just said “Yes” instead of placing the knowledge into Peter’s already overworked brain but at least now Peter Knew. He decided to ignore some of the other information Elias had imposed upon him and simply muttered: “This will definitely stay in Vegas.”

Elias nodded. “What’s one more divorce for us.”

If Peter’s head hadn’t still been pounding, he might have laughed at that.

* * *

When Elias wrote: “I’ve got a new archivist and he’s  _ perfect _ ”, Peter didn’t expect much to come from it. Yet, with each consequent letter, Peter was forced to admit that Jonathan Sims did seem to be the perfect candidate for Elias’s plans. He said as much when they next met in person.

“Thank you”, Elias said. Then, after a moment’s contemplation, he added: “What do you say to another wager, Peter?”

Peter tilted his head inquisitively.

Elias went on: “If you can get an archive employee —  any archive employee — to pledge themselves to The Lonely, willingly, you can have it all. The Institute, the Panopticon, my life. And the employee, of course.”

Incredibly tempting. “What’s in it for you?”

“If you lose, my Archivist gets a neat little souvenir. A mark of The Lonely is still missing.”

Peter didn’t want to give in too quickly, so he said: “When you think about it, your goal sounds quite forlorn. Jonah Magnus, immortal king of a world in terror.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” When Peter didn’t reply, Elias went on: “You could join me. Afterwards. Rule by my side. Two kings, eternal and terrible.”

A familiar feeling Peter had kept in check for years started to stir inside him and his thoughts wandered towards the locked box on his desk.

“I haven’t accepted the bet yet”, he said.

Elias smiled. “We both know you will.”

Maybe he’d become too predictable.

* * *

After his statement, Peter Lukas had a moment to realise that this was his end. There were two things he got to regret in that time. One, he wouldn't be granted the privilege of dying alone - he was to be killed by Jonathan Sims in the place he'd assumed would always be safe. Two, he would never get to wear his wedding ring again. It would stay locked up in that box forever. Quite a pity, really. He'd always liked it, even though he'd never told Elias. He had a slight hope that Elias Knew all the things Peter had left unsaid over the years. Then, everything was agony.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This might be one of the most self-indulgent fics I've ever written.  
I think it's canon-compliant enough to earn the tag but if you disagree feel free to tell me so!  
A note on the text: This is from Peter Lukas's point of view so just because he assumes Elias manipulated him into falling in love to hurt The Lonely, it doesn't necessarily have to be the case. It could be though. Who knows. Definitely not Peter.  
Furthermore, the weird sense of time in this fic (does it take place over five years? Ten? Twenty?) is indebted to Peter Lukas just refusing to adequately comprehend the passage of time.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. You can also find me on [tumblr](https://writtelings.tumblr.com/).


End file.
